Winter’s grip has been fierce in recent weeks. Most days the temperatures struggle to get into the twenties, and that’s not considering the wind-chill. Usually, I can lean into the beauty of winter, and take the cold days in stride, but the consistently below normal temperatures have been making that more challenging than usual. (I may have even complained once or twice.)

This past weekend my lovely, long December break was winding to a close, and I found myself chafing against the unrelenting cold and determined to get outside. I was yearning for an opportunity to do some early morning wandering, filled with fresh air and natural beauty. I knew that once school started back up, my opportunities would be much more limited. So, on Saturday night, the last “free” night, I made up my mind.

“I’m going to go look for snowy owls and walk on the beach tomorrow morning” I announced to my husband.

He looked at me askance. “What’s the temperature supposed to be?”

“I don’t know. Mid-high teens?” I paused and wondered if I should check the forecast more carefully. “You know what?” I said suddenly, defiantly, “I don’t care what the temperature is! I’m going!”

“Ok,” he said. “Wake me up early, and I’ll come with you.” (Wow! I guess we were both feeling a little bit claustrophobic!)

So, shortly after 7 on Sunday morning, bundled up as if heading into the tundra, we set out for the beach. We chose to head to one about an hour south, where snowy owls tend to visit. (Spoiler alert: we didn’t see any.)

When we arrived at the beach, it was snowing and other than a small cluster of birds, the beach was mostly deserted. Thankfully, there wasn’t much wind, but when we got out of the car, the cold slapped us in the face. I wondered if we’d made a mistake.

“Well,” I said, looking at Kurt, “if it’s too bad, we can just drive around.”

We pulled our hats down further and burrowed into our layers. I pulled my hood up over my hat and then tucked my fingers deep into my pockets, cradling two hand warmers . We walked down onto the beach, where the tide’s edge was marked with frozen slush. (You know it’s cold when salt water’s freezing! )

Thankfully, as we walked, we got a bit warmer. Well, a little bit.

Moving along the beach, we approached the flock of birds. Though, I’m not positive, I think they were sanderlings. They huddled along the shoreline, feet encased in bubbling surf, occasionally running a few feet ahead, but mostly standing still. Just looking at them made me even colder.

As we neared, they moved slightly away from us. They seemed a bit sluggish, decidedly less active than usual. One, slightly behind the others, hopped along toward the group, and something about its movement caught my eye.

“Oh, no,” I said, “Do you see that? I think something’s wrong with one of its legs. It looks like it’s only using one of them.”

“Well, a lot of them are only on one leg,” Kurt noted.

“Yeah, but this one only moved on one leg. Did you see it hopping?”

I struggled to catch sight of the bird again, amidst the others. From a distance, I still couldn’t be sure, but one leg looked different. Also, whenever this bird moved, it still hopped from place to place. The others scurried with both legs, and when they stopped, they’d tuck the other leg up, to keep it warm. We watched the birds for several minutes, and I took a few photos, but it was too cold to linger. We wandered away, moving further up the beach, and my attention drifting to other things.

Before long, we decided to call it quits. Our feet were cold, our cheeks vivid pink, and our noses were running. But, hey! We’d gotten some fresh air and we’d gotten outside. It felt like a victory!

Note: Later, when I got home, I was still thinking about that bird. I downloaded my pictures and when I zoomed in a bit, I could clearly see that the its leg was significantly impaired.

I’ve been thinking about it a lot since then. About endurance and survival. About how harsh life can be. It feels like there’s a message in there somewhere. I’m still waiting for it to land.